<Oh! So what’s going on with the left—hey! That shiny part on the left is a hound!>
“Yep! People touch the image on the right for luck, but then they also pet the hound on the left, because hounds are so awesome. That hound has been petted by millions of people over the centuries. That’s why he’s so shiny.”
<Wow! That’s a pretty lucky hound. This is now my favorite statue.>
I leaned forward and gave the hound on the statue a quick scratch behind the ears. Then I touched the priest on the right. I’m not a Catholic, but I could use all the luck I could get, and in theory, at least, the Big Guy in the Sky was rooting for me, along with the gods of several other pantheons, thanks to Rebecca Dane. The least he deserved from me was a courtesy greeting.
“All right, let’s move on. But keep your nose open for dead guys instead of goulash. I’m counting on you to give me a heads-up before they attack.”
Once we got to the eastern shore we plowed down the cobbled Karlova Ulice, past innumerable shops hawking expensive crystal, amber necklaces, or cheap souvenirs, and barkers trying to get us to eat at one of the many restaurants or take in a theatre show. I admired the astronomical clock in the Old Town Square, lit up at night, and people either admired or shied away from Oberon as we passed. Tourists enjoyed beers or dinner at one of the many outdoor seating areas there, and the locals enjoyed the money the tourists spent.
After crossing the square we continued down Celetná Ulice, and once we reached the Grand Café Orient we took a left up Králodvorská Ulice, which would bring us to the Grand Hotel Bohemia from behind. It loomed above us on the narrow street, six stories of a yellow cream, its fa?ade curved around the corner it occupied.
We stopped before rounding the corner to the entrance.
“All right, Oberon, Star Wars pop quiz: Which phrase is used most often in the movies?”
<Oh! I know! “I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” or some variation of that.>
“Correct! And that’s my feeling right now. I don’t trust Leif. Or any vampire, really. So I’d like you to be my ace in the hole here in case something goes sideways.”
<Well, you should have a bad feeling. I smell dead people now.>
“That’s somewhat encouraging. If the vampires are here, maybe one of them is Theophilus. I can pull a Julie d’Aubigny and end it.”
<Heck yes! Be like Julie!>
“But in case something goes wrong, I’m going to camouflage you and leave you here. If I have to retreat I will come back this way, and I want you to knock down the first person who’s following me. Don’t bite or engage them, just knock them over, and then catch up with me.”
<Got it. I can do that! And then you can goulash me.>
With Oberon kept safe—which was truly my intention in leaving him there, not that he protect my retreat—I proceeded to the double doors of the Grand Bohemia and cast camouflage to give me some time to scope out the place, unobserved.
The outer doors opened into an unusual glass-enclosed foyer, with five angled panels, two of which were doors leading to the left and right of the center panel. The reception desk and staircase waited straight ahead across a tiled floor, and flush with the front of the building to either side were carpeted sitting areas with little cocktail tables. The furniture was upholstered in rich red and gold frilly patterns, with matching heavy drapes framing the large arched windows. A huge portrait of Karl IV, the 14th-century Holy Roman Emperor who ruled from Bohemia, gazed benevolently upon the hotel guests and reminded them that Prague had once been the capital of the Western world. In the back of the room, to the left of reception and the staircase, a doorway with CAFé/BAR emblazoned above it announced that potables could be had, and I glimpsed a bored bartender behind the taps.